Desert Exposure (10 page)

Excitement almost burst out of her, but she forced herself to remain calm.

She opened the door to the darkroom. She never did get to drink her coffee this morning; time to brew another pot.

****

To say Michael was pissed at Rachel would be the understatement of the year. Although she had finally handed over the roll of film saying she knew he was right and that the department should have it. And they’d driven back to Indio in silence.

He’d had the photos developed only to find the roll of film empty.

He clamped down on his embarrassment and anger. He’d strutted and posed, and demanded immediate attention be given to that damn roll of film. Now he guessed he’d be today’s laughing stock of the Indio PD. If he didn’t watch out; first the almost arrest, and now this, he’d be removed from the case. And this was
his
case, damn it.

Could a day get any worse?

He’d called through to Cliffs, giving Rachel the benefit of doubt, and then found she’d never gone in to work at all. If he was a dog, his hackles would still be raised.

He stepped on the gas, zipping down Highway Eighty-Six like a madman. He hadn’t been able to get the Hummer, and had requisitioned an undercover department vehicle that had an odor of gym socks and burritos. He knew now why she’d been so blasé. She’d given him an empty roll on purpose. And he hoped he was in time to catch her in the act of tampering with police evidence. It would please him no end to put her in cuffs.

No way would he call her on her cell phone. No way. She deserved no warning. This would be a face to face confrontation. He no longer trusted her, and he couldn’t risk her taking off with, or destroying, the evidence.

****

“Hi,” Rachel said, as she unlocked and opened the door.

Michael came into the hallway, but kept his distance. Hands shoved into his pockets.

She sensed his questions. And she felt his palpable anticipation that mingled with maybe some fear. Or anger. Would he arrest her? Ralph bolted past her and scratched his little paws against Michael’s legs.

“So?” Michael finally asked, as he scooped Ralph up.

Rachel swallowed hard. She kept eye contact. “Did you…did you develop the film?”

Okay. So he wasn’t going to make this easy on her
. Not that she’d expected him to do so. “Look, I’m sorry. I owe you a huge apology, and I…I can explain.”

His pale blue eyes were cold, icy, even.

Her nerve endings tingled. “Um, see…it’s I don’t trust anyone…can’t…you know. And I know it was wrong, but still, well, the cops could have taken ages and my grandfather might be just like hanging on.”

“You could have trusted me.” He said it, soft and cold.

Okay, okay she knew that. She knew that now. But before she’d only known him for a short while. And the truth be told, she’d worried that there might be evidence on the negatives that could incriminate Grandpa. She had to know. Not that she would have withheld the information, but she’d needed to know the whole story, not just the cop talk, before handing over any evidence.

“I’m sorry, I should have trusted you,” Rachel said, and tried to show how contrite she felt. “Look we might as well go out on the boat and search the shores and the old buildings through binoculars. I know you said that would be an awesome opportunity.”
Okay. So she was pushing it a bit, laying it on thick, but she had a hell of a lot of making up to do
. “The negatives will take about an hour to dry.” She smiled then. Later they’d see the evidence together. “I can see shapes. Human shapes…men, I think.”

She saw the tiniest flicker of interest, but he looked down at his shoes, not wanting to let her see that. She still hadn’t been forgiven. Michael could be such a stickler for rules. Had he ever done anything wrong? Had he ever not told the entire truth?

After a moment he looked up, his lips pressed tight. A small muscle in his jaw twitched. It wasn’t a smile, nope, definitely not a smile. It was a twitch of exasperation.

“I’ll change clothes,” he said, and walked to Henry’s bedroom.

****

Pedro watched the comings and goings at the cabin. He spat onto the sand below the tree. Even the effort to spit hurt his head. The wound had opened up again when he’d been in the cabin, in the darkroom, yesterday evening. By the time he’d gotten home and checked on everyone and explained everything to Ricardo, he’d barely made it back in daylight. He’d chosen not to turn on an interior light, and that made his work harder.

He’d managed to finish washing away the blood that had seeped through the bandage and dripped onto the darkroom floor, when a car had pulled up. He grabbed the almost dry negatives he’d developed from the roll of film in the Leica and had found nothing but pictures of geese. He’d escaped out the back door. On all fours. Like a dog.

A tall, well-dressed dude wearing a hat had gone to the back. He must have jimmied a door or a window and gone inside. Fifteen minutes later he left. Pedro had figured something was definitely up. New evidence maybe? The place had had no visitors since the cops had left. He’d come back today to watch for a while, and intended to go back and raid the pantry. Then the granddaughter and another dude, not the tall one from yesterday, had arrived. Interesting.

They were only in the cabin thirty minutes when the granddaughter came out and she seemed angry. They left in a midnight blue Mustang. Within an hour she came back, alone. And now, thirty minutes later the guy had returned in another car. How the hell many cars did these gringos own? Pedro had thought about investigating what the woman had been up to inside the cabin, but then had decided to wait a bit. Good thing. He’d figured if she was developing a film, he knew the time frame.

His cousin had been impressed with the random shots of the beach, the dog, and the graffiti on the walls of the bait shop that were on the digital camera. Not a figure to be seen. An innocent photographer, he’d assured Pedro. She had no idea the men were hiding there. While he could breathe easily now, and they didn’t have to relocate, suspicions were still raised. The roll of film the old man had said he’d accidentally destroyed could have been found by them, even though he’d gone over the cabin, searching everywhere, the day he’d bound and gagged the old guy.

He sat on a high branch of an old eucalyptus tree, and raised his binoculars. He knew he was far enough away not to be detected. In front of the few eucalyptus trees stood a row of Tamarisk trees that the old guy must have planted as a wind break. Those trees gave him extra protection yet the foliage was sparse enough that he could see beyond them. Yet still he sat as low as possible, his back pressed into the trunk.

He thought of the roll of film he’d developed here yesterday
. Damn woman
. He spat onto the sand
. A whole roll of birds…birds landing on water.

His head still ached, and the cut on his head throbbed. He touched it gingerly, and winced. His cousin had patched him up as best he could. His eyes got heavy and he shook off sleep. He’d need to change the dressing tonight. He smoothed the edges of the tape, and prayed he wasn’t allergic to anything. Americans used different products than in his country. A door slammed, and soft voices carried on the slight breeze. No arguments like before. They must be going out the back. The motor boat started up.

Pedro widened his eyes and stifled a yawn. He raised his binoculars. “What is…? Fishing?” The boat shot across the water.
Is good. Bueno
.
Time for investigation, and supplies.

****

Michael figured Rachel navigated the water the same way she drove a car, at full speed. Good Lord the woman was reckless. But Ralph seemed to be having a grand old time.

“We’ll cruise the north shore, first,” Rachel yelled. “Then we’ll go back toward the south side and throw in a couple of fishing lines.”

“Sure,” Michael said gruffly, still unable to completely forgive her.

He sat at the back, closing his eyes for a few seconds so he didn’t have to see the pitch and lurch as the boat cut across the choppy waves. Then he felt underneath the seat.
Good
. The old guy had been smart enough to stash a couple of life vests.

“Ah, anything in particular you’re looking for?” he asked, as Rachel cut the engine.

“Nope.” She sat perfectly still and gazed toward the nearest shore. She looked up and down the shoreline. He squinted into the bright sunshine. He’d forgotten sunglasses. What was she looking for? Not that he was complaining or anything, at least they were relatively still.

A moment later, she turned, and smiled. “I can’t help myself. I had to check out some of the birds, see if it’s worth coming here tomorrow.”

“You don’t have a camera.”

“I know. But Grandpa has a few old ones at the cabin.”

She started the motor without warning. Michael grabbed on for dear life as the boat shot straight across the huge expanse of water, turning back in the direction they’d started out from. Water shot up from either side and a fine spray misted him. Birds squawked and flew out from the rushes and rocks along the shore. He looked back. He’d never seen so many birds. Some he didn’t even recognize.

Were they herons, maybe
?

“There’s a pair of binoculars in my backpack,” Rachel yelled, the wind almost whipping the words away before he could hear them. “In case you want to do some bird watching.”

He stood and lurched forward, found his footing, and the binoculars, and moved closer to her. Forget the birds. He scanned the shoreline, and the abandoned buildings. This was an opportunity he hadn’t had from his home base at the dingy bar. The binoculars were almost like wearing sunglasses. He could see now.

“How big is the sea?” he yelled.

“Forty something miles end to end, and—”

“How far are we going?”

“Maybe ten miles, or so.” She waved one hand around.

“Good. I want to check out the buildings along the deserted part north of Desert Scapes, up to the stretch of beach where you were attacked.”

“Okay.” She nodded, and he continued to scan the shore.

He looked back toward the cabin. A movement in the sand dunes, where a few scrubby bushes and an occasional Tamarisk tree led to the side yard, caught his attention. “Rachel. You might want to turn around.”

“You going to be sick?” she yelled.

“No. Slow down.”

She did, and looked over her shoulder at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I saw something, or someone, lurking around the bushes in the side yard.”

“You’re kidding? Let me see.” She turned the boat, grabbed the binoculars, and peered toward the cabin. “I don’t see anything…oh, wait. There’s a crouching dark shape. Hell, I think it’s a guy.” She tossed the binoculars toward him. “Keep your eyes on him.”

Michael caught the binoculars, and slipped the loop of the strap over his head.

“You got your gun?” she yelled.

“Yes.”

He touched his shoulder holster beneath the flannel he’d worn to cover it, and glad to have the shirt now they were on the water. It was damn cold. The sun shone, but the day was chilly. Or maybe the chill came from the fear of Rachel’s motorboat skills, or lack thereof, and the attention her speed might draw. He walked over and stood behind her, and reached around to steady the wheel. No way in hell he wanted her tearing straight across the lake. He needed to approach with more care.

“Take it slow,” he murmured. “Keep it steady.”

“Yeah, I drive like a maniac,” she said, and rested her back against his chest for a minute.

Michael wondered if that was a reflex, or a come-on, or a way to distract him from being angry with her. He didn’t move.

“Grandpa always threatens he’s going to upchuck his breakfast.” Rachel laughed. “Hasn’t happened yet.”

Michael realized how good it felt to have his arms around her, to feel her pressed against him. The scent of her flowery shampoo got to him. But the flip of hair that blew backward and slapped at his face reminded him to stay focused on the man at the cabin. He removed his hands from where he’d placed them over hers, on the now steady wheel, and backed away.
Focus on the job.

“You’re doing great,” he said, and moved to the seat as she headed the boat toward the shore. He kept the binoculars to his eyes.

They soon approached the jetty. There was no movement. Whatever, or whomever, they’d seen had disappeared. Could someone have gone inside? Nothing at all seemed amiss. No unknown cars or trucks were around the cabin. Rachel cut the engine. Michael put the binoculars into her backpack, and jumped out onto the jetty and tied up the boat. He took out his gun from the holster.

“I want you to stay aboard, stay low, while I check out the cabin. I’ll give you a call, if it’s safe.”

She nodded, lifted up Ralph, and sank onto the floor of the boat.

Michael did a quick walk around the small building, and he checked both cars. The front door of the screened porch was still locked. No sign of forced entry. No broken windows. He tried the back door. Locked. He walked a few feet back toward the jetty, and beckoned Rachel. Then he faced the cabin, the gun still drawn, scanning the area as she and Ralph hurried up behind him.

“Is everything okay?” she asked softly.

“I think so. Perimeter’s safe. Both doors are locked.” They stood on the sand below the verandah for a minute. She stood close behind him. He could hear her breathing.